I Try To Live Without You
by goldsworthyeli
Summary: I didn't like the way House ended, so this is my alternate ending. Please read and review? :
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I didn't mind the ending of the House series, but I just really didn't think it was an ending true to the show, or that it was very final. I've always wanted it to end in a certain way, and have been thinking over writing this for awhile. This is just the first chapter and I'm not sure how many there will be, but I'm guessing only around three or four. Please review?  
**

**Note: I am aware that Wilson is Jewish, but I felt that it was a minor change to show how effected House would be by his friends funeral.**

**House's POV**

House had allowed Wilson to spend the past few weeks at his place. As much as House hated it, it had been his best friends last wish not to waste away in the hospital, but that didn't mean he was going to allow him to be without medical attention.  
In the end, Wilsons wish hadn't meant much, considering he had visitors day and night, just as he would've had be been in the hospital. The visitors annoyed House, taking away from him the last time he would ever get to spend with the only person who really mattered. But it was amazing to see all the people who truly cared about Wilson. Along with family, other visitors consisted of fellow doctors, former and current patients, and even a few exes. As much as House hated visitors, he would allow this for Wilson.

**Wilson's POV**  
The past few weeks had been more painful for Wilson than anything he's ever indured. The physical pain, he could handle, but the emotional pain was getting to be a bit much. Watching as House paced around the apartment, without his cane, as if he was trying to put himself through pain. He hadn't seen him take a vicoden all day, for the first time in their friendship.  
He had grown to accept that he was going to die, he was okay with it. He had left a mark on the world, and he knew it. But he didn't even want to think about what this was going to be like for House when the inevitable happened. The man was damaged enough, and now he had no one to go through this with.  
The amount of visitors both angered and comforted him. The main idea of not dying in the hospital was so that he didn't have to deal with the "you look good"s, followed by the pained looks they'd give him. He'd seen the families and friends of his patients give these exact looks. Looks of sympathy, pain, and loss. They were going through losing him before he was even gone.  
He had been visited by people he never expected to visit, his ex wives and girlfriends included, all of them ended up crying at his bedside leaving him to comfort them. This made him feel both sad and alright. This confirmed that his life had meant something, that he had effected people, and that's all he had set out to do.  
He had even gotten a call from Cuddy, which he didn't expect. She called House's phone, knowing that his cell phone had been disconnected and that was the only way to reach him. She offered to come visit, to endure House's presence long enough to say goodbye. And had cried on the other end of the phone as Wilson told her no, that he didn't think it was a good idea for either of them. House was going through enough, he didn't need _the _ghost of his past showing up right in his apartment, right before the last true friend he had became a ghost, too.

**House's POV**

It was getting worse. Wilson needed to be attended to 24/7, he was in the final stage of the disease and it had spread to every possible place it could. House had left his team to deal with their currect case on their own, not even taking their phonecalls. He was trying his best to prepare himself for the inevidable; it could happen any day now.  
Wilson had whithered down to nothing, there didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on his body, and his skin appeared as if transparent, he was so pale.  
House had given up on trying to get him up out of bed, so he remained in the spare room at all times. He had a cathater, which he had refused to allow a nurse to put in, so House had had to do it himself, despite how uncomfortable it had been. House and purchased a small TV for the room, which was always switched on, with Wilson paying little to no attention to it.  
He was so weak that House often had to help him to sit up, and swallowing his food had became a major problem, so he had snatched a feeding tube from the hospital, which was the only way Wilson could eat. Things had gotten bad and Wilson was going to die, there was no other way to look at it.

**Wilson's POV**

Just when Wilson thought that the pain couldn't get any worse, it tripled. He felt entirely useless. He couldn't even get up to use the bathroom so he had to have House install this stupid catheter. This is not how he wanted to go. He didn't want to be in pain, and he especially didn't want others to see him go through pain.  
He worried the most about House. On the rare times he was awake, he always heard him mumbling to himself, or caught a glimpse of him walking past the spare bedroom, a grimace on his face and gripping his leg. As far as Wilson could tell, he still hadn't been taking any pain medication.  
He hardly ever saw House, other than the odd time when he decided to sit up to watch TV, or to speak to his mother, when House would enter the room without hesitation, gently helping Wilson to sit up, putting a pillow behind his back and head. Wilson had known that House cared about him, but he had had no idea that he had cared this much.  
One of the worst parts of all of this was his mother. She'd been staying at a hotel in town and spent all day every day by his bedside, sometimes even staying through the night. They hardly got to talk, because even talking exhausted him, but even as a grown man he was comforted having his mother there.  
He wished more than anything that she didn't have to watch him die. It was bad enough for everyone else to see it, but his mother? She should have never had to see him go. A mother should never have to bury her son.

**House's POV**

Just as he had suspected, Wilson had passed just a few days later. His mother arranged for him to be taken to the funeral home, and the funeral itself would be taking place in a day or two. House still hadn't decided if he could bring himself to go.  
Although Wilson was not religious, his family had been strictly Catholic, therefore there would be an open casket. House had not seen the body, and didn't plan on it. He knew he couldn't handle seeing his best friend, cold and lifeless, all dressed up and no place to go. No place to go ever again.  
House had never been a believer in God, but right now, he was really fucking hoping that he was wrong. He didn't want to believe that there wasn't a better place for people like Wilson. Him, on the other hand, he knew that when he died, that was it. Even if heaven did exist, that was not a party he was invited to. He'd done way too much shit in his life for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I just felt like it was important to have a chapter about how House felt. There will be at least two more chapters. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. **

House looked at the clock; it was 7am. 24 hours had officially passed since Wilson's death. The world had gone a whole day without him.  
Death had never been a tough concept for House to understand. People live, and then they die. It was the way the world worked, and it was that simple. Some poeple spent their whole lives worrying about it, and wondering why it happened, why people had to die. But to House, there was no puzzle, there was nothing to figure out.  
Wilson's death, however, had surprised him. It wasn't so much the fact that he was gone, but that the world had gone on spinning without him. Wilson had been such and important part of his life, of _his _world, that it came as a shock to him to look out the window and see that nothing had changed.  
He paced his apartment, noticing little things that reminded him of Wilson. The coffee mug he had claimed when he moved in, the little notes he had written House about his team contacting him that he had never gotten around to throwing away. He couldn't bear to look at any of it, he could hardly stand being in his own home.  
He had closed the door to the room Wilson had stayed in just after his mother had left. She had been there to collect Wilson's things, and she even tidied up the place. House was too shaken up to help her with it, and frankly, he couldn't bring himself to feel sympathy for anyone but himself. House couldn't imagine ever opening the door again, there were too many memories in that room.

He didn't have the energy to cook himself anything for breakfast, so he settled on cereal. He hadn't eaten much of anything in a few days, the anxiety of what was coming and the pain of what had happened took a toll on his apetite, but he knew he needed to try or he would just feel worse.  
Taking a seat at his almost-never-used dining room table, he poured the milk into the cereal. He gently picked up his spoon, while inhaling deeply to slow his breathing. He attempted to take a bite of the cereal, feeling his stomach wrech immediately, causing him to slam the spoon down to the table.  
He stood up, flinging the chair accross the room before giving up and collapsing to the floor.  
"DAMMIT, WILSON!" he screamed. "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THIS? WHY DIDN'T YOU WANT TO GET BETTER? YOU WERE ALL I FUCKING HAD!"  
He sat in a heap on the floor for quite some time, turning over onto his side in a fetal position, tears filling his eyes. He was angry. Angry at Wilson for not going through with the treatment, angry at himself for all the times he had ever wronged him while he was still around, and most of all, he was angry at _God_, whatever or whoever controlled his fate.  
_"Why the hell would you do this to me?" _he asked, tears continuing to roll down his cheeks. _"I've lost everyone I've ever cared about, and I know it was my fault. I know I screwed it all up, but he was the one person who stuck around. And I screwed up with him too. I screwed up so many times, but he still came back. So why the __**fuck**__ would you take him away from me, too?" _  
He fell asleep that way, in a heap on his kitchen floor, mumbling to a God that he didn't even believe in.


End file.
